Unwanted Truths
by Maya Perez
Summary: Add-on/extended scenes to On the Head of A Pin Season 4 - centers around Dean, Sam, and Castiel after Alistair's escape.
1. Chapter 1

Unwanted Truths

Chapter 1

Sam's blood sang as he finally released the power that had been thrumming and building inside him for the last couple of hours. He'd never drank so much demon blood, he'd never been filled with such strength. He'd never felt so free, so alive, so in _control_.

It was glorious!

Today, for the first time, he would undisputedly be the one to Save the Day. He would be the one to stop the Bad Thing. He would be the one to save Dean.

All his doubts, all his hesitations, they meant nothing when he could do this. Sam willed forth another burst of power into the demon he was keeping pinned to the wall of the old meat packing plant -- a just place for such a one to get their due.

Satisfaction poured through him as a burst of light shot out of the stolen body. The twist of pain on the stolen meatsuit's face this time also equated to pain being felt by the demon. And this was no ordinary demon. No, it was Alistair, the entity that tortured his brother in Hell. The _thing_ that twisted Dean until he couldn't take anymore and drove him to start torturing others.

For once Sam felt anything but impotent.

Whether this thing lived or died was totally up to him. His supremacy over such a choice made him heady. And the decision about whether Alistair lived or died had been made long ago, had been made from the moment Sam first heard of the odious demon and the things he'd done to Dean. There would be no mercy. Not for the likes of him.

And this time, this time Alistair wouldn't be sent to Hell where he could pick up the pieces and start over again. He wouldn't get the chance to twist others to be like him or find a loophole to get him back topside and try for Dean again. No, this time this dark thing known as Alistair would cease to _exist_.

Sam had the power. He would make it so.

The scent of blood, water, fear and rust coiled about him like perfume as he focused his energy a little more around the trapped essence of the demon writhing in front of him. One of Hell's most powerful beings and Sam held him helpless, stuck to the wall like a bug on flypaper. As bright flashes of light burst anew from Alistair's chosen meatsuit, the smell of burning flesh and sulfur also suffused the air.

The energy of Ruby's expended blood tingled all over Sam's skin, in the air, through his soul. The sensation of Alistair being crushed out of existence was almost orgasmic. And he liked it. This was what it felt like not to have fear. This was what it meant to take charge of your own future.

This was power. _And it was his_.

With but a thought, Alistair was no more.

Sam released the demon's empty shell and let it collapse to a broken heap on the dirty floor.

There was a momentary twitch of pity for the man who'd been the demon's prisoner, but Sam buried it. The stranger had been a necessary sacrifice in order to rid the world of a great evil. Chances were the poor victim wouldn't have survived the possession anyway. The body had taken too much damage between the strong demonic essence it'd been forced to house and the ministrations of his brother in his vain attempt to make the demon answer the angels' questions. Sam had done him a kindness by making it quick.

Though none of this would have been necessary if not for the angels who'd kidnapped his brother and put him directly in harm's way in the first place.

Sam threw a glance in Castiel's direction but the wounded angel avoided his gaze. The demon had done a pretty good job on him, the angel looking the worse for wear with a gash on his forehead and blood staining his beige coat from where the demon had put his shoulder through a hook on an I-beam. Sam looked around the warehouse now that he could take the time. A giant contraption sat to his right in the form of a six pointed star with chains and manacles. A complex devil's trap was drawn around it and on the far side of it, he found Dean splayed on the wet dirty slaughterhouse floor.

He wasn't moving.

Apprehension mixed with a different kind of dread shot through Sam. "Dean!"

He ran to him the feelings of utter power and control slipping from him. Surely he'd not come too late. Surely his great accomplishment wouldn't have been for nothing!

He dropped to his knees beside Dean, his gaze taking in his brother's battered, bloody face, the skinned hands, and the nasty red bands around his brother's neck. Dean stank of salt and blood and terror. His breath wheezed in and out of his partially open mouth as if he were having trouble breathing.

"Dean?" Sam's hands shook as he reached out to touch his brother and never actually did. He possessed no idea what kind of damage was hidden by his brother's clothes. There could be broken ribs, internal bleeding, even ruptured organs. His head snapped up and back in the direction he'd come from. "Cas! Dean needs your help!"

But the angel wasn't there. There was only a smear of blood still dripping down the iron strut where the angel had been.

A tide of rage burned through Sam at Castiel's desertion. This was the angels' _fault_! His brother had been hurt because of them, because they'd forced him into this, and this was how they repaid him? "Castiel, you bastard! Come help Dean _now_. You owe him!"

Though his anger echoed through the vast space, he got no answer. Not a stir of air, a whispered word, nothing. The bastards had used them again and left them once more to pick up the pieces when things went wrong. And these were the messengers of the God he believed in? His helpers? How could He tolerate them being like this?

Sam shook his head, shoving the questions out of his head, knowing there was no one around to answer them. He'd had such faith, such hope, that God would be there for them, that somehow someday he would help them. That He would save him from the destiny the demons had for him. But if He allowed his own people to treat them like this, what hope could Sam have that He would help him when he needed Him? Sam was on his own. The only one who could stop him from following the path started by Azazel was no one but himself.

He was also the only one he could rely on to keep the last blood member of his family alive.

"It's going to be okay, Dean. It's going to be okay."

Sam reached for his cell phone but never actually brought it out of his pocket. Calling 911 was out of the question. With Alistair's dead meatsuit across the room, the giant metal devil's trap, the torture implements, blood and who knew what else, there was no way he'd be able to explain it all away.

It would have to be just like he'd said -- all up to him.

Trying to be as gentle as possible, Sam reached under Dean's limp body. With infinite care, he lifted his brother up in his arms. The quickly dripping residual power in his blood made it effortless.

Sam rushed Dean outside and slipped him onto the Impala's back seat on his side.

Googling for the location of the closest hospital, he lost no time setting off to get them there.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel's essence and his vessel hung in the Between, the area his kind used for travel which also connected the planes, as he pondered on what to do.

He knew he'd been created for two purposes and two purposes only: the first, to worship and praise God, his Father; the second, to follow His commands. But the longer he spent down here on His firmament, the harder and harder both of them became to carry out.

For millennia they'd not been involved directly in the affairs of men. They'd watched them from afar, with the occasional exception. But despite the uneasy peace during all this time between the lower and higher planes, the demons wouldn't leave well enough alone. They'd started working on a game that took generations, striving so hard to keep it secret the Host had only caught a hint something was happening but recently. And it'd almost been too late.

Yet they'd broken through and rescued Dean Winchester. Though the End of Times had been set in motion, the key piece that could bring it all to a finish had been saved. Because they'd done as they'd been told without question.

Obedience…

Blind obedience…

The Winchesters didn't believe in it. They always questioned everything. Yet he knew from his glimpses into Dean's soul that in some ways their Fathers were very similar. He also knew there'd been a time when Dean did only what he was told, that only in the last few years had he balked at the blind faith he placed in his father, John Winchester. That he'd questioned his decision and motives only just before and especially after the man had died.

Castiel continued to drift in the Between, no destination in mind – just drifting wherever the energy winds would take him. Batted back and forth to float randomly hither and yon, knowing but with but a thought he could be anywhere in an instant, yet at the moment not having the faintest idea where he should go. So he let it, and his thoughts, carry him where they would…

One of their own had questioned and refused their Father as well – Anna.

She'd committed Heaven's gravest sin. She divested herself of her Grace, ripped it out, and become human.

The mere thought of giving away what made him what he was, the gift his Father had given him, sent ripples of uneasiness throughout his borrowed body. To be less than what they were. To become mortal. To disconnect from the network of power that was His realm and no longer feel His touch.

Yet she'd done it willingly rather than be subjugated, rather than obey.

Anna had been his superior. She'd delegated the orders down to their section from those above. He'd known back then she held doubts, but had never imagined she would do as she'd done.

Yet today, today he'd had his own misgivings. Doubts he'd buried deep but which rose now to haunt him.

His brothers and sister were being killed. Thanks to the Winchesters they'd accomplished a major victory in the capture of the demon Alistair. Orders had come that Alistair needed to be questioned, that he'd know who was committing the foul deeds. And it was Dean Winchester whom they wanted to do the questioning. Dean whom they wanted to recall the skills he'd learned at that same demon's hands when he was being tormented in Hell.

Yet the Dean Winchester Castiel brought back up from the pit was frayed at the edges.

He'd watched the human slowly try to deal with the horrid truths of where he'd been, of what was done to him, and what he'd done to others in return. But the human's hold was tenuous. And he was grieving. The death of the psychic Pamela had been unexpected. And Castiel knew of the guilt Dean felt previously at being the indirect cause of her blindness. Now he'd had her death to add to the list as well.

So Castiel been aware what asking Dean to do this might do to him. How it could very well destroy the very person they'd fought so hard in Hell to save. But it wasn't his place to question. Despite the fact it felt wrong. That he _knew_ it was wrong. And yet he'd asked it of Dean anyway. Despite Dean's own misgivings, despite what he himself felt. Because he'd been given orders. Because he _must obey_.

And things had gone so terribly wrong because he had.

Worse, he'd abandoned his charge without even knowing if he was alive or dead.

Though fear and uncertainty had certainly played a part on why he'd left the warehouse, they hadn't been the strongest reason. What had driven him away was shame. Shame that he had risked Dean's soul, shame that he'd not been powerful enough to save him, shame that because of his inability Sam Winchester was pushed to soil himself further and do something that had never been done by a human before. Exert an ability strong enough to _destroy_ a demon. Not send it back to Hell, but utterly and totally obliterate it from existence.

It was a path Castiel wasn't sure Sam could come back from. One he wasn't positive the youngest Winchester even wanted to leave. And it was all because of him. Because of the orders he'd carried out despite his misgivings and Anna's warnings.

And he had no idea what to do about any of it…


	3. Chapter 3

"How is he? How's my brother?" Sam cornered the startled ER doctor the moment the man came through the key card doors leading to the examining rooms.

Sam had been pacing the hall for the last thirty minutes, pent up frustration making him want to hit something. The pervading antiseptic smell, the sounds of people in discomfort, the repeated questions of nurses to incoming patients, these and the other sounds of the hospital at work kept popping up old images into his head of other times when Dean had been brutally hurt: the accidental electrocution from the souped up tazer; his banged up comatose body after Azazel had messed with his insides his injuries made worse when the Impala had been side slammed by the semi. If not for supernatural intervention he would have died both times. Would it be the same case again this time? And if it was, how was he going to pull something off to get him well?

If those bastard angels hadn't taken Dean against his will none of this would have happened! After all Dean had been through, that they'd have the gall to even ask him to use the horrible things he'd learned… And Dean wasn't Dean anymore. If they'd bothered to look at him they would have known he couldn't get the job done. He wasn't _strong_ enough.

Look where it had gotten them.

"Answer me!"

The balding man stared up wide eyed into Sam's face, something close to panic flashing in his eyes.

Sam forced himself to take a deep breath and moved a step back as he realized he was looming over the man, his pent up frustrations homing onto the nearest target whether the doctor deserved it or not. "Sorry. But please, how is my brother?"

The doctor swallowed hard, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times before actual words came out. Twin points of spreading red stained his cheeks, which was an improvement to the previous starch white palor he'd suffered from but moments before. "He…he's out of immediate danger at the moment. He's being moved to ICU to keep him under observation."

Sam nodded taking half a step forward before he could stop himself. "_And_?"

The doctor shifted sideways, obviously not wanting to get trapped in the corner again. He held up his clipboard as if to use it as a shield. "L, luckily his larynx wasn't crushed and we've already given him something to deal with the swelling and bruising to bypass any possible breathing difficulties."

The clipboard came down an inch or two as Sam stayed out of his personal space, his voice gaining some confidence as he did so. "He has a number of contusions in the face, torso and arms. Also several cracked ribs and a minor concussion. We've no indication of any interior bleeding, which is good. He'll be in pain for a while, but I don't foresee any real long term health problems."

"He's regained consciousness?"

The doctor looked away, refusing to meet his gaze. "No, not yet. But like I said, the scans look good. So there's no reason to believe he won't. We're just keeping him in ICU overnight just in case."

He was lying. Sam was sure of it, but decided calling him out on it wouldn't get them anywhere. As long as Dean was stable, it gave him time to pursue other options. It would have to do for now.

"I want to see him. Take me to him." He made sure his tone and expression left no doubt this was not a topic open for discussion.

The clipboard came back up. "Su, sure. This way."

He followed at the man's heels, his need, his hurry, spurring the smaller man on or leaving him at risk of being run over. The doctor pointed at an open doorway down a hallway with wide windows. The majority of them showed mostly closed blinds, to give the other patients privacy or hide the horror of their situations from those walking by.

Sam headed for the indicated room, the doctor's existence slipping out of his awareness. Only one solitary thing important to him at the moment – Dean.

He stepped into the room then stopped, a wave of dizzying déjà vu sweeping over him as he spotted his brother. Stark white sheets, metal railings, IV drips, wires and tubes; all surrounding Dean's pale form insisting with beeps and sounds that he lived. Sam's hands curled into fists, his fingernails digging into his flesh. He hated the sight of Dean this way. Of his looking less than what he should be, belittled by all the machines, the sickly color of his flesh, made less than he was by all of it. Screaming to the world his big brother was weak, vulnerable.

Yet this was nothing new. The signs had been there for months for anyone who cared to look. Dean hadn't come back the same. He tried like hell to hide it, but they spent too much time together, knew each other too well. Dean's sleep was sporadic, he had nightmares. Every once in a while Sam would catch him staring off into nowhere as if reliving something. And the drinking… Even during jobs. His big brother was barely holding it together.

Though there'd been hope. After Dean finally opened up to him about the horrible things that went on down in Hell he seemed to get a little better. He'd started to rally back to his old self. At least until Pamela, until _this_.

Forcing himself to move, Sam went around the bed and roughly shoved one of the chairs there closer to the bed. He dropped down into it, deflating, trying to let go of the odd emotions roiling inside him. Despite what had happened to Dean, one good thing had come from it. Sam had finally done it, done the one thing he'd striven to reach over the long ugly summer and again once he realized that regardless of what Dean thought, cutting off the head of the snake was the best maneuver after all. Especially since he planned to destroy all the ones he could get his hands on before and after to keep anyone of any power from taking over Lilith's place once she was gone.

And he could do it. He'd turned their plan for him on its ear and learned to control his powers so he could use it against them. He possessed the ability now to exterminate demons. Erase them from reality forever where they would do no harm ever again.

Sam rubbed at his tired face then pushed his hair back while sending a veiled glance in Dean's direction.

There'd be no point in going through it though if his brother wasn't around. He wanted Dean to have a future, to live his life. To finally have for himself what he gave up to take care of Sam when he was a kid. Sam knew his own soul was already forfeit. Probably from the moment Yellow Eyes entered his nursery and fed him demon's blood. Blood which he now willingly took to give him power, control, the ability to drive his own fate! But his sacrifice would be made less if Dean was gone. If there was no one he deeply cared about to reap the benefits of his actions.

There was no God. Or if there was, Sam wasn't sure he wanted to believe in Him anymore. Not if his angels were any indication of whom He was, of how He thought of his creations – mere pawns to be used and discarded at His whim in some kind of celestial game.

Enough was enough.

A figure filled the room's open door and Sam glanced toward it expecting it to be Dean's doctor or a nurse wanting him to get out, which wouldn't be happening. Instead he saw it was Castiel. His heart lurched in his chest.

Before he could say anything, the angel motioned for him to join him and stepped away down the hall.

So the coward had decided to finally show his face? Good. Sam rose to his feet, stoking the fire in his gut. It didn't escape him how the angel looked perfect, all signs of the damage he'd sustained at Alistair's hands vanished – while Dean lingered unconscious, battered and beaten.

Castiel turned around to face him as Sam hurried to catch up.

"Sam…" The half drawn blinds from the other rooms made bands of light and darkness across the angel's face.

"Get in there and heal him." Sam jerked his thumb in the direction of the room, just in case the angel had any doubts as to whom he could be referring to. He could kill demons. Yet there was nothing he could personally do to help Dean. But Castiel could. "Miracle. _Now_."

"I can't."

That Castiel would deny him after what the angel had seen him do at the warehouse didn't totally surprise him, but while he might have cause to deny him he had no right to withhold his gifts from Dean. If Sam'd had some of Ruby's blood on him right then, he would have taken it and forced the cold hearted bastard to do something. A deep yearning inside him told him all would go his way if he did. "You and Uriel put him in there –"

"No…"

Sam felt him mouth tighten. That's right try to deny it. As if Cas actually could. He was totally to blame and they both knew it. "Because you can't keep a simple Devil's Trap together."

"I don't know what happened." Castiel's denial was hard but then he looked away as if not believing his own conviction. "That trap… It shouldn't have broken. I am sorry."

Sam very much doubted he was sorry enough. "This whole thing was pointless. You understand that? The demons weren't doing the hits. Something _else_ is killing your soldiers."

Castiel's gaze met his, a child like confusion on his face. "Perhaps Alistair was lying."

"No. He wasn't." Sam would have known. Everything that was Alistair had been gripped by the power Sam had called forth. He'd almost felt each molecule fall as he'd taken the demonic essence apart and destroyed it. Alistair could hide nothing from him.

The angel stared at him in numb shock, as if Sam had just proven to a five year old that Santa wasn't real.

Sam didn't much care. If the angel couldn't heal his brother, he was of no use to him. The demons and angels could butcher each other forever for all he cared about their squabbles. Castiel would have to find any other answers on his own. Sam already had more than enough to deal with.

Giving Castiel a long hard stare, Sam walked away from him to go back to Dean.


	4. Chapter 4

_Oh the first time you picked up my razor… The first time you sliced into that weeping bitch. That was the first Seal._

Pain. The first thing he felt was pain. Numbed pain, drug masked pain. Dean had suffered enough of it over his lifetime to know it for what it was. This also meant he was alive, and not dead, as he should have been. As he deserved to be…

Oxygen jetted into his nostrils, the cold plastic tubes of the cannula laying against his cheeks and winding behind his ears. His chest, his whole body, felt heavy, as if weights were tied to every inch of him. His insides were like lead. Maybe this horrid weight would increase and pull him through the bed then the floor and on down until he fell to where he actually belonged.

His eyes felt raw and puffy as he gave in and let them flicker open, his curiosity as to how he could have survived his encounter with an escaped and pissed off Alistair stronger at the moment than his desire to just disappear. The horribly familiar smell of antiseptics and harsh cleaners made it past the pumped canned oxygen even as sterile off-white walls glared back at him. The soft muted beeping of machines rang somewhere in the background. Yet more testimony that he was indeed still alive.

He sensed there was someone in the room with him, his hunter instincts ringing, warning him he wasn't alone. Panic scrambled up his already mistreated throat. God, please don't let it be Sammy, not Sammy, please. Anyone but his brother. Dean couldn't deal with what he knew, was barely able acknowledge in his own mind it was even there. So no way would he be able to deal with Sammy asking questions, not yet. No, not yet. Better still, _never_.

He kept his head still as he slowly moved his eyes to look down to his left. His field of vision proved pretty limited, his left eye partially swollen shut. He flinched, remembering the particular jabs Alistair had administered there twice in a row to get his attention.

Dean spotted a pair of dark blue slacks and the end of a tan trench coat. The fist inside his chest eased just a little as he realized his visitor wasn't his brother. Maybe, if he was lucky, Sam still had no idea he'd been hurt. It wasn't like his brother had even been told where the angels were dragging him off to. They'd taken Dean away in the blink of an eye, without asking, his permission not something to be considered anyway – just a pawn to be moved across the board.

"You all right?"

Dean instantly recognized Castiel's voice. He let his gaze rise to glance at the angel's face. Cas wasn't looking toward him, his profile showing he was staring in the direction of the far wall. The fist in Dean's chest came back, squeezing even tighter, as he wondered why the angel wouldn't look at him. Maybe it was guilt. Guilt at having made Dean relive his time and sins in Hell by having him torture Alistair despite his own misgivings on the matter. Guilt at having let the whole thing go so effing FUBAR.

Dean had no idea how it happened. How it was that Alistair was able to get loose. He did know Castiel somehow got a clue and intervened before the demon could kill him but didn't know what happened after. Though he'd struggled to keep it, Dean had lost consciousness after he got dropped to the floor.

He'd been guaranteed Alistair was _secure_. What a crock of bull. "No thanks to you."

His throat burned. It felt bruised and swollen. He was forced to swallow to try to appease it and it was a struggle to do even that. An unwanted flash recalled the feel of Alistair's hand as it wrapped itself around his throat and the demon pulled him up into the air with Dean able to do absolutely nothing to prevent it, agony shooting from his throat as Alistair closed his fingers tighter and tighter around it.

"You need to be more careful."

That calm tone, the reproachful words, they didn't make Dean happy. Not that anything would at this point. "You need to learn how to manage a damn Devil's Trap."

"That's not what I mean."

The words surprised him. What could Cas be talking about? Did it somehow relate back to Alistair? Or worse still, to the ugly things the demon told him?

"Uriel is dead."

There seemed to be even less inflection in the words than usual, if that was somehow possible. Cas was the deadpan king. It made Dean well up with dread. He glanced in the direction of the angel again. "Was it the demons?"

"Disobedience." Castiel made it sound like the worst sin imaginable. As if. The angel finally shifted and looked his way. "He was working against us."

For some reason this didn't surprise Dean. Fit the bastard to a 'T' to be a traitor. Not like Uriel had any feelings for the 'mud monkeys'. He wouldn't have shed a single tear if every last human on the planet got blasted to bits. Dean hoped the bastard suffered when he went. Did angels just cease to exist, or was there a place in Hell for someone like him?

Cas' words made everything finally click into place, too. _Uriel_ had done this to him.

Yet he found he wasn't really angry about it. It should be scaring him that it wasn't, that it only made him feel heavier, more numb, but even this was denied him. There were more pressing issues than Uriel being a bigger douche bag than he'd figured. And if, as he dearly hoped, he was wrong about what he'd learned, then he'd have the liberty to hate the bastard all he wanted to later.

"Is it true?" Dean sent a tentative glance in Castiel's direction, needing to see, needing to know, though a part of him would have been just as happy never to have asked. Cas met his gaze. "Did I break the first seal? Did I…start all this?"

No. Tell me no. Please, Cas.

"Yes." Pity for him stained the angel's face like paint.

Dean's heart gave a lurch in his chest and he looked away. Castiel's one word rang over and over in his head, sure he had to have heard wrong, sure it couldn't _be_. But there was no denying it. Alistair might have lied to him, but Cas wouldn't. Of course it was true. He felt the weight of it in his tainted soul. He'd caved in and in his weakness put another in his place and so had broken the first seal. Once again he'd proven how useless and worthless he truly was.

How was he supposed to _live_ with that?

He'd barely survived before carrying the guilt of all those he'd tortured, all those he'd submitted to the agonies downstairs in his stead. Why hadn't Castiel just let Alistair send him back to Hell where he belonged?

"When we discovered Lilith's plan for you, we laid siege to Hell." Castiel's voice was composed and even as if they were discussing a grocery list. "And we fought our way to get to you. Before you-"

Dean's throat grew tight and filled with vile. "So I jump started the Apocalypse."

He felt Castiel hesitate. "And we were too late."

It was _his fault_. Why didn't Cas just say so? The stupid selfish human mud monkey had started the world on the path of fire and destruction. Self loathing scorched through him, breaking through the wall of numbness. "Why didn't you just leave me there then?"

Why give him a second chance? Why reward him when he'd fucked everything up so badly?

"It's not blame that falls on you, Dean. It's fate."

Bullshit! He didn't believe in fate. Every man made his own decisions, chose his own course. This was something else entirely. He had been found _wanting_.

His father went to Hell before him, _for him_, and he _resisted_. He escaped! Dean hadn't been able to do half as well. And he'd had to be rescued to boot. He _deserved_ to be left down there. Maybe then, maybe then he would never have learned the truth…

"The righteous man who begins it… Is the only one who can finish it."

Dean felt the burden of Castiel's conviction pour over him. It wasn't right.

"You _have_ to stop it."

He felt pined, the weight laying over him increasing tenfold. His soul was falling and falling and it would never hit bottom. Everything he'd done, trading his soul for Sammy's, giving in to Alistair, torturing others, it had all led to this. He'd started the fucking _Apocalypse_! How the hell could they think he'd be the one to end it? _Were they not paying attention_? He was _weak_! He'd _started_ the damn thing! And they wanted him to go face to face with… "Lucifer?"

Impossible!

Something warm rolled down his cheek making him feel cold to his soul. "The Apocalypse?"

Insanity.

Madness.

"What does that mean?"

He was one man. A _pathetic_ man. A broken, useless man. Dean felt Cas' penetrating stare move away from him as if he too had no idea how Dean was supposed to accomplish this. The silence between them grew heavy.

This was too much. Too beyond him. If an angel had no answers… Suddenly the idea of being left alone with all this, without any clues, was more than he could stand. "Hey! Don't you go disappearing on me you son of a bitch!" Fear grabbed him, tried to smother him. He looked at Cas again, hoping his will alone might keep the angel there if Castiel decided to bolt. He wasn't meant for something like this. "_What does that mean_?"

"I don't know."

"Bull!" He had to know. He had to! Dean was alone, so fucking alone. There was no hope! Someone give him something.

"I don't." Castiel's tone turned apologetic. It just made Dean more afraid. "Dean, they don't tell me much." The angel looked as lost and helpless as he already felt. "I know our fate rests with you."

Dean looked away, the blind faith, the need, burning him like a brand. He had no idea. _No clue_.

He hadn't been able to hold out. He tried, Lord knows he'd tried, but he _couldn't_. He willingly and knowingly asked for another to take his place despite knowing what that would mean to them. Worse, he then picked up the knife himself. And he'd thrived down there, he'd _enjoyed_ torturing others. He'd wallowed in the knowledge that every cut he gave meant one less for him. How the hell was he then supposed to turn around and save the world? Shit, how could _anyone_ save it? "Well then, you guys are screwed…"

Guilt made him slip a half glance in the angels' direction. "I can't do it, Cas. It's too big. Alastair was right. I'm not all here. I'm not strong enough." He sounded like a coward even to himself. It didn't make any difference. He couldn't _do_ this.

Dean couldn't meet the angel's gaze so he turned away, disgusted with himself. He was afraid. So very afraid. More afraid than he'd been of anything his entire life. He'd laughed in the face of fear before, used it to force him to do things to prove he wasn't scared. But not this time. The jagged edges of what remained of his soul splintered inside him. The hole he was falling into grew bigger and bigger until he was but a mote dropping inside it. "I guess I'm not the man either of our Dads wanted me to be."

He licked his lips, his insides quivering in horror and rejoicing at the same time. He couldn't look at Castiel. He didn't want to see the angel's disapproval, knowing Cas could feel nothing else. His sometimes friend might as well come to know the full truth about him before he got his hopes up and Dean led him to even greater disappointments. Let him know the things Dean had long known, but had fought never to admit. There was no choice anymore though. Nothing he could do. Even if he tried, he'd botch this just like he'd botched everything else that mattered in his life.

They should have let Alistair finish him. He could have been eaten by the darkness. He was already a part of it, it was in him. He couldn't help them. He couldn't even help himself. "Find someone else. It's not me."

Dean stared at the wall, having trouble breathing through his swollen throat, his nose too clogged for the cannula's oxygen to do its work right. The faint taste of salt trickled past his lips, as he wished he'd never been born.

"We don't have long. There's more I need to tell you." Cas' voice was barely above a whisper.

Dean didn't move, hoping if he pretended not to have heard maybe the angel would drop it or go away. He'd had more than enough ugly surprises for one lifetime today.

But though he hoped for it, almost begged for it, Castiel didn't go anywhere. Dean could feel his presence as if it were screaming at him that it was there. What more was the bastard going to ask of him?

"Uriel wasn't the only casualty. Alastair is also dead. He won't be bothering you anymore." His voice rang with confidence.

Dean thought he couldn't take more, but he was wrong. He squeezed his eyes closed, more tears escaping from beneath his lashes. This time he did rejoice, even as a small part of him said Alistair would never be gone, that a bit of him lived inside him and would stay with him forever. "Did you kill him?"

"No."

Dean waited for him to say more, but he didn't. Warning bells went off in his head, insisting if they had so little time, yet Cas was being this hesitant, the news couldn't be good. He turned his face totally away, his whole chest compressing. He didn't want to know, he didn't want to hear it! Yet it was his cracked voice that asked, "then who did?"

Long seconds passed. Just when Dean thought he could breathe again, when he felt sure Cas wasn't going to answer, he did.

"It was your brother."

Dean's world stopped.

No. He couldn't have heard right. Sammy? Sammy was somehow involved in all this? "No way. Exorcise him, sure. But kill? Sammy can't do that. You got your facts wrong. _Way wrong_."

"I'm sorry, Dean, but I was there." His voice was barely audible. "I saw him do it."

But how? How had Sammy been able to defeat Alistair, let alone kill him? The first time they met Sam had barely tickled him going at the demon full hog. He wasn't a fool, he knew Sam hadn't entirely kept his promise about not using his weirdo powers. It was the only thing that could explain how Alistair had had them dead to rights in that cemetery when the demon passed himself off as the security guard and yet they somehow managed to survive the encounter. Sam had never really explained how he'd gotten through intact and if there was one thing Dean knew for sure was when his brother was keeping things from him.

Sammy's powers couldn't be growing on their own, could they? Aside from his weird psychic visions his demon blood had done nothing except make him immune to the Croatoan virus. And the visions had left when Yellow Eyes died. Then how? "How'd he do it?"

"I don't know. But he made it seem…effortless…"

Dean felt a shiver course down his back at the angel's words.

Castiel fidgeted in his chair, which wasn't like him. "It can't be good."

Dean finally braved looking back in his direction and met Cas' troubled gaze. Guess the angel wasn't getting any warm fuzzies about this either. Things just seemed to be getting more and more fucked up all the time…

But wait a minute… If Sammy, if Sammy was so powerful, maybe he, maybe he could be the one to… _No_. Not no but hell no! _You fucking coward, you've seen what it did to you playing downstairs, you think it's going to be any prettier or easier for Sam? Demon blood flowing through his veins doing who knows what to him the more he plays with his friggin' powers? Do you really want him doing this for you?_ And he'd do it, too. Sam would do it for his worthless, useless, undeserving big brother, Dean.

"I just thought you should know…"

He might not be man enough to go and try to stop the Apocalypse, but he'd kill himself before he asked Sam to do it in his stead. One of them damned for eternity was more than enough.

Then, as if he'd not been crushed enough, not shocked enough, it hit him. Castiel said he didn't have much time. That inferred someone was there, someone Cas couldn't talk in front of. And Sam had been at the warehouse. If he'd been at the warehouse then that meant… Dean suddenly felt cold to the marrow in his bones. "Oh God, he's here, isn't he? _Isn't he_?"

"Yes."

Dean's brain flooded with panic. Sammy had seen him. Sammy was _here_. He turned toward the angel, overcome with dread. Machines beeped a rising cacophony behind him. "_What did you tell him_?"

Castiel shook his head not looking at him. "Nothing. I didn't figure it was my place to say."

Dean fought down his fear. Sam didn't know. Sammy _didn't_ know. He had to cling to that.

"I should go. He's coming…"

The jolt inside him at Cas' words showed the lie for what it was. He was doomed.

He would plead for the angel to stay. If he had to, he would beg. But his throat closed in on itself and before he could work around it enough to make a sound the angel was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

"Thank you, officer, I really appreciate it."

Sam rolled his head over his shoulders, his bones popping as he watched the two policemen go. More lies and bullshit. He almost didn't have to think about what he would say in these situations anymore. It was scary how easy lying sometimes was, especially with people he didn't know. But the police would be back. They'd want to see what Dean remembered. See if he could give them a description of his attackers, maybe even have him look at mug shots, as if they had the time to waste on such common useless things.

He dismissed them from his mind and walked back to Dean's room. His brother had been moved out of ICU a couple of hours before, but he still hadn't regained consciousness. And there was no way to know when he would. A flash of fury cut through him, wishing he had Alistair to kill all over again for what he'd done.

Sam forced himself to stop before he reached the open doorway and took a few deep breaths trying to relax and school his features into something neutral. He shored himself against seeing Dean still laying unconscious and helpless in his hospital bed.

So it was an awesome surprise when he found Dean awake, his bed slightly tilted upwards. A shot of joy worked through him as he dared hope his brother might just end up being okay. "Hey."

Dean moved his head in his direction but only stared at Sam's navel rather than look him in the face. "Hey…" His voice was raspy.

The joy of moments before curled up and died. His brother was far from okay. He looked diminished. Insecure. Scared. Weak. His brother was beaten, broken, _done_.

Sam was surprised at the disgust that rose inside him rather than the sadness or pity he'd expected. As if Dean's weakness was an affront. As if his brother had somehow let him down. He didn't like it, but didn't know what to do about it. It was almost as if the stronger Sam got, the weaker and more fragile Dean became.

They were supposed to be stronger together… But lately it was as if all Dean actually did was hold him back.

He had to make a concerted effort to yank his attention back to the hurt man before him. "Did the cop song and dance. They promised to drop by to talk to you later."

Dean nodded but didn't say anything, staring at his hands. Sam stepped deeper into the room, closing the door behind him, wondering what was on his brother's mind. Wanting to shake him, or hug him, or something to snap him back to his old self, not have this shriveled thing before him.

"You need anything?"

His brother barely shook his head, still not even halfway glancing in his direction. Had something else happened at the warehouse before he got there? Sam ran his hand through his hair, hating the thought that even more had gone on. It'd been one thing after the other lately with the seals being broken and the guillotine of the possible coming apocalypse hanging over their heads.

He moved around the bed and dropped into the chair beside it. He was exhausted but what else was new? Part of it was the effort of using up the demon's blood on Alistair, another was coming off the power rush it gave him. That wasn't even counting the endless worry. The few minutes of sleep he'd snatched here and there had only blunted the edges. He was worn out.

"You don't have to babysit me… You could go get some sleep…or something…"

Sam frowned as he glanced over to the bed. He got the weird feeling Dean was trying to get rid of him. Which was crazy. As it was Dean was looking in the direction of the door, his face totally turned away from him. His brother had been unconscious when he found him at the old meat packing plant. But maybe he saw something? "Dean, what's going on?"

Sam saw him flinch at the question. It made him angry. This wasn't his brother. "Alistair is _dead_. He can't hurt you anymore."

"I'm really tired… Can we talk about this later, _please_?"

Was that his brother _begging_? Who the hell was this? And there'd been no surprise at his statement of Alistair's death either. None. No belief as well on the second part. Sam didn't need to see Dean's face to know this. His bunched hands, his hunched shoulders, everything about him screamed it. Sam had dealt with demons. He'd put his soul at _risk_ for Dean. Lied and sneaked and more for him. At first to try to save him from the pit, then to make sure nothing like that would ever happen to him again. But he'd never expected this.

And this whole time he'd been worried about Dean's disapproval, about that look Dean sometimes got when he looked at him, when he remembered Sam wasn't entirely human. Yet who'd saved him from the demon? Who was victorious where Dean had failed?

"No. I'm not leaving and I'm not dropping it." Sam shot up to his feet. "I saved your life!"

His brother's whole body shuddered. The beeping cadence of the monitoring machines rose a little. "Sammy…I can't do any of this anymore."

"Sorry?" He heard the sharp accusing edges in his voice but it was too late to hold them back.

"I…I quit."

The hesitation. The pain. His brother was truly gone. And Sam found he didn't like the thought one bit. "Oh come on, Dean. You got beat up. _Big whopping deal_. Man up."

"What?" Shocked hazel eyes finally looked in his direction.

Sam grabbed hold of the safety bar on the bed locking his gaze to his brother's. "You heard me." The tone of challenge echoed in the room.

Dean flinched again, his gaze slinking away. "No, you don't understand! Alistair told me things…"

Pleading, begging, whining! He wanted to shake Dean, demand he bring his _real_ brother back, not this mockery of him. Instead he just gripped the safety bar that much tighter trying to keep his feelings off his face. "Like what?"

His brother half turned away from him. As if he couldn't look Sam in the face, as if he also knew he was broken. "I…I know why they made the deal with Dad. I know why they made it with me…"

Sam frowned, not having the faintest idea what difference that could make, yet from Dean's tone knowing it might be the answer to a lot of what made his brother wrong right now. "And that is…?"

He saw another shudder go through his brother's beat up frame. The beeping of the machines intensified again. Dean's hands were clenching and unclenching as if trying to work himself up to the revelation.

"And it is written…that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in Hell. As he breaks, so shall it break."

Sam had to lean forward straining to hear his brother's words. They came out as if by rote, as if he'd said them to himself a million times. And maybe he had.

"I broke the seal, Sammy. All the crap happening right now is because of me."

Sam couldn't help a disbelieving snort. "Okay, then we'll just fix it! We'll stop Lilith from opening them all." So that had been her game. That's why the second crossroads demon wouldn't deal with him. It all made sense now. Loathing burned inside as he added more to the tally Lilith already owed him. Losing his soul would be worth ridding the world of the awful bitch. She and Yellow Eyes had cost his family _everything_.

The half laugh half gasp from Dean shook his whole body. "I can't, Sammy. _I just can't_."

The fire inside Sam turned. He reached out and grabbed Dean's jaw and forced his brother to look at him. Dean's eyes brimmed with fear, pain, despair, and welling darkness. Emotions he'd never seen his brother show, not when their father passed, not when Dean realized he was truly going to die and go to Hell.

Where was the man who became reckless just to prove to the world he wasn't afraid? Where was the brother who helped raise him? Who protected him from humans and non-humans alike? The person he'd looked up to his whole life, the only one he was willing to soil his soul for? To fight and kill demons to protect?

This _thing_ was not him. This was _not_ Dean. For his brother would never have allowed himself to be reduced to this.

Dean scrunched his eyes closed, his expression crumbling as if he'd read Sam's mind. Sam let him go, not regretting if his brother had seen his thoughts in the least, mad at him, mad at Lilith, mad at God, mad at himself for not having been able to stop things from turning out this way.

It was that same useless feeling of impotence he'd come to loath and know so very well. And if he had to stare at what his brother had become for too much longer, it would demand an outlet and it would be Dean.

"I'm going out. I'll be back later."

Sam hurried to the door not once glancing at his brother.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean watched with numb horror as Sam left the room, his brother's back stiff, his face hard.

He'd done this. This was all his fault.

Because he was a coward – _a yellow bellied coward_. So much of one he'd bared his soul just so Sam would no longer expect anything from him. So he could quit. So he wouldn't be made to try just so he could fail spectacularly. Because he knew he would fail. Was certain of it. Had never been so sure of anything this strongly in his entire life. But now at least he wouldn't have to see it happen. It was done.

Dean stared at the blank wall before him seeing nothing. The weight he felt since awakening heavier than before.

He would never forget the look on Sam's face though. A look he'd fought his whole life never to put there, yet had today brought it about on purpose for his brother's and his own benefit. Because if Sammy knew everything up front, then he would be hurt less later. But the knife of disappointment and disgust in his eyes still buried themselves deep. Dean's family was his world. And with John Winchester dead, Sam was all the blood kin he had left. There was Bobby, too, of course, but soon he would want nothing to do with Dean either.

There was just nothing left. He could give _no more_.

His father had died to save him. He'd been the first to be tested and he'd not broken. Sam had died because Dean hadn't done _his job_. And though he'd found a way to fix that, in the end he'd just made everything so much worse. He'd caved in to Alistair's torture. He'd tormented others in his place and by so doing had given the demons access to the seals.

Then there was Pamela. Strong, beautiful and in trying to help Dean she'd been made blind. And like naïve fools they kept asking her to help them again and again despite their parts in her deformity. And for that she'd been murdered.

But worse than all of them combined was Sam. His brother had _killed_ a demon. Something no human as far as he knew had ever been able to do before. Sam had continued using his weirdo powers until he seemed more and yet less than human. And it was only because of Dean that he'd worked at making his YED given powers stronger. Over the last few months he'd seen Sam staring at him when he thought Dean wasn't looking. He'd seen the worry, the pity, the uncertainty Dean would be able to pull his own weight.

Something Sam had gotten a belly full of when Dean had been contaminated by the ghost virus, fear filling him at seeing his own shadow. Shame of those days and how he'd acted covered him even now. Especially at the fact that when he got spooked, he ran and left Sam alone to deal with the ghost all by himself instead of standing by him. His brother could have been killed! Yet he'd not spared him a thought, his terror making him hightail it out of there, every man for himself. And that fear was _nothing_ to what he felt anymore.

Did his father know what he'd done? Was he even now cursing Dean from wherever he went after he escaped from Hell? Did he know his older son wasn't even half the man he'd been despite how hard Dean had tried to emulate him all his life? Did his disappointment fill him until he wished he'd never traded his life for his in the first place?

He stared down at his hands and saw them blur as tears filled his eyes and spilled unchecked down his face. He felt a sob scrambling up his throat but he held it down by sheer force of will. He was just so blasted weak!

He wanted to die. They should have just let him _die_.

Dean stared around him wondering if there was an easy way to do it. If there was some quick fix to send him where he belonged.

He stared at the needle in his arm. He could try to push some air into his IV, give himself heart failure. That way Sam would just think it'd been his time to go. He wouldn't go and put on more guilt baggage as if he'd had anything to do with what had happened.

He turned to reach for the bag and the insert nozzle, but it was too far back. He stretched to reach for it and pain shot through him, his abused ribs screaming at the treatment.

Panting, he dropped back into place, trying to breathe as shallowly as possible to give his ribs relief. The ache roller over him in waves making him dizzy.

He was too feeble, his body too battered. If he was going to do something he was going to have to wait. This he wouldn't fail at. This he'd follow through. Rid the world of his useless carcass. But he'd have to wait until he got better to pull it off.

Problem was Castiel would be back. Sam would be back. They were both stubborn, they might decide not to believe what he'd told them. So they'd come back to demand things from him, ask him for things he could not give. They would try to stop him if they knew what he was up to. He would just have to wait them out. Because eventually they would have no choice but to finally realized he was serious, that he couldn't do what they wanted. Then they would leave him. They would leave him and never want to see him again. And then he could take care of things…permanently.

For them to desert him was no less than he deserved. Yet the thought of it sent cold shivers of fear shooting through him.

Dean grabbed the railing beside him and shook it until it rattled despite the pain it injected through his ribs and his bruised arm.

He didn't want that. He wasn't sure he could handle living through it and holding to his resolve! There must be something he could do. Something he could try to get rid of himself before they ditched him. Save himself from at least that one bit of pain. Yet just as surely as he knew he couldn't face down Armageddon, he was only too aware that at the moment there was nothing to be done. Nothing at all.

And that hurt most of all.


	7. Chapter 7

As an angel of the Lord Castiel had many responsibilities. And with those responsibilities came powers to be able to carry them out. One of them was the ability to observe without being observed.

Before he'd taken a vessel, the power defaulted to keeping him hidden. It was how angels had watched and reported on humanity for millennia. Confined in flesh, it became an act of will not to be seen rather than the norm. It was the same with travelling the Between.

So though Dean Winchester felt he had deserted him, Castiel in actuality had done nothing of the sort. Instead he'd been a silent witness to his reunion with his brother Sam.

The confrontation disturbed him. Despite his time watching humans from afar, he understood the two men were not the same as when he'd first met them. These last few months had been pushing them, and pushing them hard. And they were breaking.

He was only too aware a lot of it was his fault, his brethrens' fault. By taking Dean they'd pushed Sam into somehow doing the impossible – a human had slayed a demon without a weapon. By asking what should never have been asked of Dean, the latter learned the horrid truth of the things he'd inadvertently set in motion, when he'd already been struggling just to deal with the terrible things which had been done to him and which he had done in Hades.

And it bothered Castiel. Which was new. Never before had he experienced the need to question, make decisions, let alone feel.

This simple being's pain bothered him. His brother's plight bothered him. Dean had been blessed with the paramount role of beginning that which He set in motion and prophesied millennia ago. Dean would be the one who would stop Lucifer from gaining dominion. Yet when the injured man had asked him point blank how he was supposed to do such a thing, Castiel had held no answers for him. Even as one of the Host, if placed in the same position, with the powers at his beck and call, he still possessed no idea how it would be accomplished. It was simply a matter of Faith.

Yet Dean Winchester had none. That had become terribly clear the first time they met face to face. And though Dean had dealt with angels, seen demons, lived amongst them, still he did not Believe.

His guilt, his horror, the overwhelming size of it all hung like neon signs all over him. And Castiel had no idea how to help him. Was surprised even by the compulsion to want do so. Despite the fact he'd seen the birth, the lives, and the deaths of billions of them, never had he felt close to any human. Never before had he cared about any of them. About what they might think, might feel. And like so many other things he'd not experience before, it was confusing.

Dean had told him he couldn't do it. And from the way he'd opened up to his brother, something very contrary to what he'd gleamed of Dean's nature, Castiel could see it was true.

There was nothing he could say or do to comfort him, to help him.

So bundled in his confusion Castiel instead followed Sam when the latter stormed from the room.

One of the things he felt now was fear. Something which hadn't truly touched him since Lucifer defied their Father. Fear, he was coming to understand, came in different shapes and intensities. He'd already suffered the tingling fear of making decisions, of trying to carve his own path. The painful horror in having to acknowledge to himself that his brother, Uriel, was the one actually responsible for the murders of his peers. Panic and trepidation at the understanding his celestial brother had set up Dean Winchester to fail and in so doing broke him.

Uriel's betrayal itself was terrifying. The fact he'd been able to convert some of those belonging to their garrison even more so. Their Father's words were clear. The rules set. So how could his brethren have fallen victim to 'doubt'? To take Lucifer's side against Him? How could they forsake Him?

Without true awareness, Castiel automatically followed Sam as he stormed toward an exit door and slammed it open before stomping outside.

Angels could not read minds but could otherwise sense many things about others when they so chose. Understanding what their powers told them, however, at times was beyond them. Right now Sam's aura flashed and clashed, colors changing like a spun top. Fear, anger, sadness, helplessness, and more swirled into something too much for the human to hold.

"_DAMMIT_!"

Castiel watched Sam's whole body shake as he raised his fists and screamed his frustrations to the heavens. He knew the younger Winchester had once believed in prayer and religiously did so for many years, but no more. Though it had not been God, Castiel knew the human felt forsaken by Him because of the actions of his angels. Shame glimmered inside him at this. That he, one of His servants, was partially responsible for turning one of His flock away from their Almighty Father.

Why was He allowing all this? What was the point?

_Castiel_.

He turned away from Sam in the Between when he heard the call.

_It is time for Revelations_.

The sense of fear and confusion returned like a slap. But he didn't understand it. His superiors already knew about Uriel. He'd already made his report. If he was to receive orders directly it also meant another was not to be put over him again. Yet though this should have pleased him the emotions didn't go away, only deepened. As he sent his essence out to make the connection he realized with sudden clarity that what he felt was not so much about himself, but for those under his charge.

What awful thing would his superiors demand now of the Winchesters?

The question surprised him, shocked him. They were messengers from Him! Uriel must have changed their orders before. He'd been the one taking Revelations when he'd been promoted above Castiel. He could have told him whatever he wanted and Castiel would never know, never question. But how sure was he the orders had been actually changed? Doubt. Damnable doubt. Anna must have infected him.

_Castiel? _The impatience was almost physically palpable.

_I am here. How may I serve?_

He could feel the weight of his superior's consciousness turning his way. _How is Dean Winchester?_

_He is not…himself. _Castiel hesitated trying to figure out the best way to tackle this._ Alistair revealed to him his initial part in what is happening, the breaking of the first seal. It is not something he seems capable of accepting. At least not at this time. Not with everything else that has happened to him._

More and more of his superior's attention turned his way. _You did tell him of his crucial role in stopping it, did you not?_

_I did._ He would not back out on this. He had to make them understand. Perhaps if one of them visited Dean… _But_,_ he is…_ _Overwhelmed. He is not of the faithful. And his time in Hades damaged him. Damaged his soul. And now that Alistair has told him…_

_ Are you worried about this human, Castiel?_ He suddenly felt himself under a different type of scrutiny. Power shimmered in the Between. That which was his superior followed the lines of power toward him. Zachariah was coming. One of the higher order was coming to Earth. It was unheard of.

_I am worried about the mission._ Castiel quivered inside knowing he hadn't actually answered what had been asked. His new lack of blind obedience was thrilling and filled him with panic all at once.

His superior's energy form coalesced before him. Tendrils of coiled power wondered in and out of his glowing core. _As you should be_.

Castiel dropped down to one knee. _He needs help. But I don't know how to help him._

_Is he truly that broken?_ The note of doubt was heavy.

_Yes. And it is more than physical._ Castiel decided to push. He supposed Anna was right, making your own decisions was hard, but it did seem to get easier. Or at least addicting. _He would have been able to do as needed except for one of our own. Uriel's betrayal has undermined everything. So in a way, we are responsible for Winchester's state._

_ You overstep your bounds, Castiel. _Zachariah's disapproval crushed into him.

He made sure to keep his gaze and senses lowered in submission. _That was not my intention._

_I will look upon this human on which so much rests. Then I will decide how to proceed._

Castiel might not have the power to help Dean, but perhaps Zachariah would. He prayed he might with all that he was. Perhaps then Dean would know his Father had not forsaken him.

Grabbing onto this new sense of hope, he followed Zachariah as he unerringly led the way inside.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam had no choice but to get out of there. He knew Dean needed him, that he was letting him down, but this was all just too damn much! He had to come to grips with what had happened to Dean before he could see him again. It was either that or say and do a bunch of things he might later regret.

Damn Lilith! Damn Azazel! Damn the angels. _Damn them all_!

Rage whipped through him back and forth, scorching his insides. His fists clenched and unclenched as he drove forward, wanting, needing an excuse to just pound someone, anyone, to a pulp. Most of the hallways were deserted and what few medical personnel saw him bearing toward them quickly moved out of the way.

They barely intruded into Sam's consciousness, just obstacles that had stepped from his path before he ran them down. An exit sign caught his attention and he homed in on it like a missile to its target.

He slammed the metal bar on the door and kicked it open for good measure. A shrill alarm rang overhead when he opened the emergency exit but he paid it no attention, just stalked off to the left.

There was a parking lot in the back of the hospital as well as a secondary ambulance entrance. On this side, there was an indentation in the multistoried building nestling several huge green trash containers. Despite the open air and the doors on them being closed, the smell of rotting garbage perfumed everything. Stomped out cigarette butts proclaimed it an unofficial smoking area.

Ignoring this and everything else, Sam's whole body shook as he stared up into the night sky, his fists rising as if demanding a target. "_DAMMIT!_"

It wasn't enough.

His eyes narrowed catching sight of the metal trash containers. What was in them was exactly what his life and purpose had become – garbage_, rotting _garbage. He kicked one of them, then kicked it again, liking the reverberating sound it made.

He then did it over and over and over until he was panting, his vision blurring, sweat trickling down the side of his face, back, and armpits. With a slump, he sat down against one of them, his butt soon growing numb from the cold parking lot floor.

Had he ever actually accomplished anything he ever set out to do in his life? Anything? He failed to get his law degree. He failed at being the one to get revenge for Jessica. He failed to realize their father planned to sell himself and the Colt for Dean's life, letting him maneuver Sam into thinking the worst of him so he wouldn't try to stop him. He failed in killing Azazel at the burning house. Failed at keeping the Devil's Gate from being opened. Got stuck powerless against a tree when Dean needed him, taken totally out of the game and having no input whatsoever into the death of YED. He'd not even been able to keep himself alive, pushing Dean into making his deal. Then, worse, after he found out about it, though he'd had a _year_, he hadn't been able to save him. He'd stupidly listened to what Dean wanted and didn't try to use his powers until it was much too late.

And even that wasn't really Dean's fault. Sam had been afraid. So afraid! He hated being a freak, hated being something other than truly human. He knew if he'd given in to Ruby then, he would have had to acknowledge the truth of what he was. So he'd hesitated and waited until it made no difference.

So then he tried to make amends. And even at that he'd failed miserably! He'd not been able to reopen the Devil's Gate, he'd not been able to force a crossroads demon to deal. In the end he'd had _nothing_ to do with Dean's miraculous resurrection. Nothing! Despite the fact he'd given in and allowed Ruby to teach him how to use his demon given gifts.

The fire inside him burned hotter and hotter.

The one thing, the only thing he'd ever been able to do was kill Alistair. And because of that he'd saved his brother, he'd saved an angel. But despite that, he'd still been too late! Dean was done. Finished!

There'd be no one guarding Sam's back. No one making sure Ruby didn't have another agenda. Dean was now a dead weight around his neck – a burden to carry around, to slow him down, to make him vulnerable, weak.

Sam banged the back of his head in a slow cadence against the trash container behind him, the resulting headache a blessed distraction. And in its grip he saw what he needed to do.

There was only one time when he felt he had choices, one time when he felt actually able to do anything that mattered – when demon blood coursed through his veins. It was the one thing that _had_ actually allowed him to accomplish something. Alistair's death being but the latest example. And there was only one place he could get it, get what he needed – Ruby.

He needed to ramp up the training. To work his way up the demon food chain until only Lilith was left. Then he would show Dean, he would show the world he could be depended on. He would show them all!

But to do that, he would have to let Dean go. Stash him somewhere. Sam wouldn't have the time to deal with him and Dean wouldn't approve anyway. And he didn't have the time to try to convince him otherwise. The healing could begin once it was all over. If Sam survived…

Bobby. It'd have to be Bobby. The old hunter would do it. He'd be better for Dean anyway. Sam knew the embers of hate filling his belly wouldn't give him the patience he'd need to deal with a broken Dean.

He fished his cell phone out of his pocket. His finger scrolled through his contacts and he was about to hit the call button when a shadow fell over him blocking the light from the lit lot.

Looking up he only had time for his eyes to widen in surprise before Castiel touched two fingers to his forehead.

"There is a way to fix him…"

Then Sam knew no more.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean's eyes snapped open and for a moment he wasn't really sure if he was awake or asleep. Tendrils of something not quite remembered seemed to flail around inside his head but then were gone. All that was left was an aftertaste of unpleasantness, pain, loss – dregs of a nightmare. Had to have been the cucumber snack with that new garlic dressing the night before. He knew better than to snack after ten but the salad for dinner just hadn't been enough.

He sat up in the king sized bed shaking the remainders of his elusive dreams loose, feeling way too good at the moment. He didn't know why, but he felt refreshed, healthier than he had lately, as if a weight had been lifted from him. He stretched half turning to glance at the darkened city out of his wall spanning view. Running his hand over the 300 count sheets, he looked upon the black and silver bed, the dresser; letting the signs of success and hard work trickle over him with satisfaction. Last he gave a look to the Bose speaker clock radio and the time. It was just a tad past five thirty.

Awesome, he'd beat the alarm again. Now to see if he could shower, shave and dress before it went off. He could make it into the office even earlier than usual and get a jump on the Costner account spreadsheets.

_Sweet_.

Dean threw the covers back and got up to start another awesome day.

The End

p.s. Thank you for reading! If enjoyed my efforts, please make sure to check out my other Supernatural fanfiction at .net/u/885436/Maya_Perez

P.S.S. Thanks to Kaz as usual for using the pointed sticks. :P

P.S.S.S. Also thanks to lethalhonesty for bringing up a booboo with regards to Anna. No matter how much I think I know or have researched I always hose up something! Argh~!


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